“Well,someonehas to.”
“I promise I’ll be expeditious, and I’ll do whatever you say when I return.”
She considered his offer and accepted. It was fine. She could use a moment to clear her head. She couldn’t afford to let this fluster her. “Deal, but you’re on toy-sanitation duty when you get back. Okay, Lady Macbeth?”
“Howdareyou invoke the Scottish Play in here! It’s bad luck.”
“This isn’t a theater, sugarplum.”
Fernando did a dramatic pivot turn, calling back as he walked away, “Oh, but all the world’s a stage, darling.”
He strutted out into the evening. Wind howled outside, the door snapped shut, and the lock clicked as he turned his key.
The trouble began a few minutes later.
— 5 —Fünf
“Hotel Orient. Concierge speaking. How may I help you?”
The woman on the phone shrieked in a mixture of hissing and Hungarian. Sterling recognized the one word she needed. One side effect of the job was she’d learned the wordhusbandin over a dozen languages.
Wives always asked the same questions:Was he there last night? Who was he with?Sometimes, he’d been there with Sterling. Though only as her private company, never as a paying guest. Sleeping with clientele—now,thatwould be wrong.
Sterling recited the standard answer. “My apologies, madame, but our guests’ privacy is sacred.”
The Hungarian wife sobbed. Sterling stayed on the line, letting her cry it out, responding to her wails with compassionate hums until she calmed. Meanwhile, Sterling scanned an antiques-auction catalog, searching for anything bronze that wasn’t hideous. Mr. K’s eighth wedding anniversary was coming up, and he’d need a gift for his wife.
Soon as she hung up, the internal phone system chimed. A light blinked over Room 33.
“Reception. How may I be of service?”
The man was irritated and said their phone kept ringing, but no one spoke when he answered. Sterling apologized for the disturbance, offering complimentary drinks in recompense.
She was halfway to the wine fridge when Room 39 called.
“Reception. How may I—”
“What’s up with our phone? It keeps ringing. It took me three tries to reach you without being interrupted. It’s our anniversary. I hired an overnight babysitter, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my evening be ruined. Disconnect the line before I cut the cord!”
Then Room 30. “This is unacceptable! We expected five-star treatment, but this place is falling apart. The phones, the electricity, all kaput. We want a refund.”
The lobby sconces flickered as if taunting her. The Hotel didn’t tolerate being criticized. More rooms called with similar complaints, all on upper floors. She wondered how someone was dialing guests directly. Usually, reception had to connect them.
Sterling answered another call, then held the receiver at a distance as the guest screamed. She massaged her temple.Oida. Why had she let Fernando take a break?
From high upstairs came a distant string of Russian curses. Sterling rushed up four flights. She was out of shape and wished she was out of her sweaty clothes. This outfit wasn’t made forthiskind of exercise.
The Rote Salon was at the end of the hall, which felt miles away as she reached the last step. A woman was framed in the doorway, cursing, her bathrobe tumbling off her bare shoulders. The phone inside her suite started ringing again. Sterling paused at the threshold and said breathlessly, “May I come in?”
The woman motioned her inside with an impatient flutter of her wrist. In the room, Sterling leaned against the closed door, assessingthe situation. Her trouble breathing was worsened by her corset and the saccharine pipe smoke floating in the air. Sweat pooled at the top of her lingerie. At least the red lamps would camouflage her flushed cheeks. One stocking had unclasped from her garter belt during the climb. She bent to refasten it, using the moment to catch what she could of her breath.
Sterling stood, pushed her chest out, and declared she was here to help.
The woman replied with an impatient hiss of Russian, before crawling back into bed beside the Hungarian man Sterling had checked in earlier. He was sitting upright, propped against the pillows, blanket loosely draped over his lap, his hand moving under it. At least he was making the most of the situation, since he’d be returning home to the doghouse. Assuming the Hungarian woman who’d scream-cried at her earlier was his wife, that is.
His eyes followed Sterling as she sidled around the bed to the phone on the nightstand by the window. Wisps of light from the streetlamps below mingled with the red haze. She fanned smoke from her eyes as she picked up.
“Hotel Orient. Concierge speaking. How may I help you?”
